


Reflection

by dollylux



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Competence Kink, Deepthroating, M/M, Shaving, Spit As Lube, Texting, bottom!Roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:05:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafa goes to see Roger for the first time after watching Roger win the Australian Open from home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> This story needs a little bit of background to be fully understood. First of all, it is set initially during the Australian Open in 2006, the tournament that Rafa had to miss because of an injury and that Roger won and cried during its trophy ceremony. [Here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SqsTpogfnRo) is a link to the video of Rogi crying. And the following is part of the article written about Rafa after that:
> 
>  
> 
> _Rafael Nadal enjoyed watching his rival on TV, but there can be no room for sentiment when battle resumes._
> 
> _In common with most teenagers, solitude is not something that Rafael Nadal normally craves. Fortunately for him, the gregarious young Spaniard is so constantly in demand that he rarely finds himself alone. Yet sitting in front of a television in his Majorcan home on Sunday morning three weeks ago, more than 11,000 miles distant and prevented by a nagging foot injury from even having a chance of competing in the climax of the year’s first Grand Slam tournament, the world’s second-best tennis player was grateful the rest of his family were occupied on other matters._
> 
> _On the screen, his greatest rival, Roger Federer, was struggling to control his emotions as he accepted the Australian Open trophy from Rod Laver. As Federer found himself unable to withstand the joy and relief of winning a seventh Grand Slam title and the floodgates burst open, Nadal realised that tears were also cascading down his cheeks._
> 
> _In retrospect, he admits to surprise, and the confession is tinged with embarrassment. Nevertheless, Nadal insists he cried not out of self-pity at being denied the opportunity of adding to the French Open title he won last June, more out of empathy for a player he reveres yet knows how to beat._
> 
> _Nowadays confident enough to answer questions in English [though I think this was all translated from Spanish, personally], he revealed: “I didn’t watch many matches at the Australian Open because I wanted to be there, but I had to watch the final because it’s my job. In the end I was glad I was on my own because it does not look good to see a grown man crying while watching TV. It seems like a girl, but I just got involved in the whole emotion and understood it all._
> 
> _“It wasn’t my sadness at not being able to play that made me cry. I knew what Federer was thinking and appreciated how much pressure he put upon himself to win. The tears were not something I was expecting, but they just happened. When I am on court against him I cannot allow myself to be concerned with the way he is feeling, but because I admire him so much as both a player and a person, I got very emotional. Maybe it was strange.”_
> 
> And [this](http://images.google.com/images?q=burj%20al%20arab&ie=UTF-8&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&sa=N&tab=wi) is the Burj Al Arab hotel. Phew!

His fingers couldn't fly fast enough across the small keypad on his phone. Tears were still blurring his vision, tracing ugly trails down his slightly faded cheeks. _congratulations, rogelio. i dont think no one in the world deserve more than you._ He stared at the message for at least two full minutes, only the rush of breath through his body marking the time. He finally sent it, his eyes closing so he didn't have to watch it, flipping the phone closed and throwing it on the bed. He ran his hands up through his hair, ridding his face of leftover tears as he curled over, taking a huge breath and letting it out slowly.

He had never cried for another man's victory, not ever.

Fútbol was a different story entirely. Real Madrid was like his family, it was like his heart was winning. Crying over them was totally different. Sitting in his bedroom, watching Roger Federer win the Australian Open was another thing all together. Tears had come rushing from his eyes as if they had been waiting there all along, as if they were on standby for the entire match. When he heard the break in Roger's voice, he heard his own breath suck through his teeth, the beginnings of a sob. The suffocating tightness of his chest told him how much he had wanted this for Roger, how much what Roger felt meant to him.

He lay now on the bed, phone within reach, his eyes unfocused on something just past it, the whole world a blur as he existed for a moment purely inside of his own mind. He hugged the pillow he was resting his cheek on, giving it a small squeeze as if to beg it to get Roger to return his SMS. He needed to read something from him, he needed the smallest hint into his mind, needed just to have that one small moment for himself, for both of them, to have a stolen second that didn't belong to Roger's team that was always around him, didn't belong to the press that died over his every word, no cameras trained on him, no fans. Just a simple miracle of technology that would bring Roger's words to his bedroom, that would ease his mind and be balm for his heart because he couldn't stand it. He simply couldn't stand not being able to know what Roger was feeling, he couldn't stand that he wasn't there with him, that he couldn't have felt that momentum, the slow build up of intensity and the exhilaration of the end of the match, the release of it. He refocused his eyes and lifted his head, glaring first at the phone and then down at his foot that was keeping him home.

He couldn't stand it.

He had almost dozed off to sleep when his phone beeped politely to inform him of a new message in his inbox. He gasped awake, reaching for the phone before his eyes even opened, thumb ripping it open and pressing blindly to open the message. _thanks. sorry you had to missed this one. rest up and i'll see you in dubai._ Rafa read the message at least three times, smiling in spite of himself, smiling at how Roger had made the message about him, not about himself, at how calm he was mere hours after he had cried in front of thousands. Only Roger Federer.

Rafa sighed as he closed his phone, more calmly this time, letting it slip from his fingers back down onto his soft comforter. He fell asleep not able to draw a single full breath.

 

 

**Dubai.**

 

 

They hadn't spoken in over a month, not since that SMS that Rafa hadn't replied to. He hadn't known what to say. He was embarrassed by the emotion he had felt that day, he was still embarrassed about it. He had been looking forward to playing again, choosing to concentrate solely on his recovery instead of Roger though his mind revisited that day more and more often as Dubai approached. And now he was here, in a small room in the same hotel Roger was staying, the opulent Burj Al Arab, the self-proclaimed world's only seven-star hotel. He had not yet seen him, but that was not to say that he wasn't trying. He finally swallowed his pride and sent him yet another text message. _are you in dubai yet?_ The answer was obvious, but it was as best as he could come up with. He felt very careful, like he was asking a girl out on a date for the first time. Like he had to think each move through. A reply came within the minute.

_yeah, im @ the burj, you?_

Rafa grinned to himself. He had just showered, fresh from the airport. His hair smelled clean, expensive. His skin was softened by soap. It was no coincidence that he was now texting Roger. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

_same. second floor. just got here this morning._

He stared at the screen this time as he waited for the reply. He stood up before he could even finish reading it.

_im on the top floor, room 202. come on up if you want._

Rafa should have expected that Roger was staying in the Royal Suite. Uncle Toni had lectured him about this hotel before he had arrived. He had been told how lucky he was to be staying here, he had been told how nice the hotel was. He knew that the suite in which Roger was staying costed upwards of €18,000 a night. He could not help but find that kind of power attractive. His cheeks burned with the thought on his way to the 38th floor. He knew how unworthy he was the moment he stepped out of the elevator. The air even smelled better up here.

He stood at the door to Roger's room for a few minutes, gathering his nerve and his thoughts and trying to file them both in the same place. He fiddled with his phone until he realized he was counting the number of times he turned it over against his palm. He shoved it quickly into his pocket and curled his hand loosely into a fist to knock just twice, his knuckles light on the expensive wood.

Roger opened the door a beat before Rafa thought he would and so he caught Rafa with large, childish eyes which he had been trying to put away, caught him with a stray strand of hair tucked on the wrong side of his hairline and across his forehead, caught him with the collar of his shirt tugged too far to one side, stretching the thin fabric over a taut shoulder. Roger bit his lip instead of smiling like he had intended to.

"Roger." Rafa felt his breath leave his body, every single bit of emotion from January flooding him, pushing him the one and a half steps forward it took to get just against Roger as he wrapped his arms around him, hands sliding first across Roger's ribs and across his back before he squeezed him tightly. The honesty of it caught Roger off-guard, making him return the hug without question, his own arms much thinner but still filled with strength. Rafa could feel the thrum of energy between them, starting like a thread from his own body and slowly passing to Roger before returning. He knew that Roger knew the reason for the hug when they finally pulled apart. They both knew without question. They smiled at each other.

"Come in, Raf."

Roger searched Rafa's eyes before stepping back into the room, lifting his arm simply, elegantly. Roger couldn't do anything without elegance. Rafa stepped into the room, his head bowed to the luxury of it, hands in the pockets of his time-softened jeans. He felt quiet suddenly, dangerous with the emotion dancing on his skin. Roger looked like something quite beyond edible, he decided. He was all soft angles in pajama pants, a paper thin t-shirt that looked incredibly expensive. His hair was mussed, his feet bare. His face was shadowed by the first glimpses of a beard. Rafa could tell he liked to sleep in with one glance. His stomach growled.

"This is..." Rafa trailed off after finally lifting his eyes to look around, a soft exhalation ending the sentence. Roger watched him carefully, smiling his approval. It made his pulse quicken to think he had impressed Rafa, even if it was something he had absolutely no control over. He pushed a hand up into his own hair, dirtied only by sleep.

"You want a drink or something?" He motioned to the bar in the corner but immediately knew better. His words tripped to explain. "Soda, water, juice?"

Rafa started to shake his head instinctively, doesn't like to intrude or bother anyone for his own sake but realizes that the drink will give them both something to do. The shake turns into a nod. He mirrors Roger's movement, a hand in his own hair. "Soda, be great." The energy between them was almost audible.

Roger padded over to the fully stocked refrigerator, opening it up and grabbing a can of Coke for Rafa, a beer for himself. His eyes found Rafa's and stayed there until he was close enough to hand him the drink. Their gaze didn't break as they opened the cans, took sips in almost perfect unison. Rafa licked his lips first. Roger did as well but merely as a reaction.

"Hey, listen, uh... I was gonna go clean up a bit. Do you mind hanging around for a few minutes? I won't be long. There's a football match on in a few minutes." He offers this nugget of information like an ice cream cone to Rafa. Rafa's eyes lit up, the boy in him flashing through for all of five seconds.

"Sure, Rog, take time. I don't mind to watch television." He smiled at him and for the first time since his arrival it didn't feel predatory. The ease of it settled them both a bit. Roger set his beer down and reached over to grab up a remote control and pressed a few buttons, one of which opened the doors of a massive entertainment center, revealing a large flat screen television. And, as if by magic, the familiar sounds of a football match getting under way filled the room. He smiled almost triumphantly and nodded toward the TV before heading toward the bathroom.

Rafa walked over and sat on the arm of the couch which was probably worth more than his entire apartment building back home. On second thought, he slid down to sit properly on the couch. He watched the television for a long moment, forgetting almost where he was until he heard a soft hiss come from the open door of the bathroom. He didn't even know how he'd heard it over the rush of running water from the sink, but he stood up and followed it nonetheless.

The bathroom was ridiculous in its beauty, in its size. It seemed to almost swallow Roger who stood alone in front of an expanse of marble that generously acted as a counter, shaving cream on his face, only a strip of it shaved smooth. His fingers were pressed to his jaw, his face tense with an irksome pain. Rafa smiled. He had nicked himself.

"Here..." Rafa didn't even know what he was doing as he walked into the bathroom, his shoes marking his progress. Roger turned to look at him, startled, his eyes wide. He almost protested but Rafa was already right there beside him, long, dark fingers gently plucking the razor from his hand. The shaving cream hid the blush on his cheeks.

"I'm so clumsy sometimes," Roger offered lamely, his accent rather thick, his voice shy. He looked down as Rafa eased his way between Roger and the sink. Roger's eyes widened even more as Rafa hoisted himself up onto the counter, legs spread so that Roger could stand between them. He obeyed, again without thinking, looking up at him in slight wonder.

"I have to shave the face all mornings. I have got good, no?" Rafa grinned at him, lifting one hand to rest it very slightly against Roger's jaw, keeping him still as he leaned forward, dark eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Roger couldn't look at him from this close and so he looked up past his face, catching a glimpse of his own reflection over the slope of Rafa's shoulder. He swallowed hard.

Rafa brought the razor to Roger's cheek, drawing it from near his ear down toward his mouth, his own mouth drawn up to mimic how he wanted Roger to work with him through this. Roger tried not to smile at how cute Rafa looked in that moment and tried his best to move his mouth the way he wanted. He swayed a little as he tried to stand so still, pleased when it made Rafa's touch on his face more pronounced.

Roger slowly looked up at Rafa as he felt his progress across his face. He watched him more unabashedly when he leaned back, contorted just enough to reach the water running in the sink next to him, ridding the razor of the little bits of hair and shaving cream. Roger bit down on his lip to keep from leaning forward and wrapping his mouth around the very soft point of Rafa's jaw. He closed his eyes when Rafa looked back, each time.

He felt him touch the soft-rough surface of a towel to his face, dabbing it carefully. He opened his eyes again just as Rafa was smiling, announcing the shave done. They once again found themselves quiet, searching each other's eyes, only this time Roger was looking up at Rafa, and his fingers were trembling to rest on his denim covered thighs. Thankfully Rafa spoke first.

"Really I am happy for your win. I really am. Watching on the television very... emotional for me. Make me cry." It was his turn to avert his eyes sheepishly, the razor plinking down on the marble beside him. Roger blinked at him once, then twice.

" _Cry?_ Really?" He couldn't have stopped his hands then if he wanted. They rested lightly on his thighs, just the tips pressing in. Roger tipped his head to the side, touched. "You cried for me?"

Rafa nodded after a couple of beats of pause, busying himself with anything that didn't involve Roger's eyes, with the expression on his face. The movement of Roger's fingers on his legs made his back arch minutely. "You the... the most incredible of men. Like no other."

Roger just stared at him now, shaking his head in wonder. He finally broke into a gently goofy smile, giving Rafa's thighs a pat before he stepped back to let him get down from the counter. "You're one to talk."

Rafa did get down but he did so silently, confused by Roger's words. Roger stepped back forward against the sink, reaching for the towel because he needed something to ground him, to distract him from how fast his heart was beating. The marble was warm where Rafa had just been. He lifted his eyes to meet Rafa's in the mirror. He hurried to speak again to remove the confusion from Rafa's face. "I mean... I only mean that... well. That you're amazing, too. I mean, you know, you prove that by... by even _caring_ about how I feel. That's unheard of with people like us, right?"

Roger stood up straight when he felt and saw Rafa get closer to him. He almost groaned when his hips pressed flush against the edge of the counter, his crotch digging against the unforgiving surface. His eyes fluttered but didn't stray from Rafa's in the mirror. When Rafa spoke, his voice seemed lower, closer.

"Like us?"

Roger nodded, a stuttered movement. His mouth opened to reply but he only gasped very, very softly as Rafa finally touched him, as the length of his body ghosted against his back, from chest to thigh. Rafa broke their stare to look down at Roger in front of him instead of his reflection. He smelled like warm, clean sheets, like a late morning in bed. Like the beer he had just drank. He smelled like softness embodied.

"Y-you, know, competitors, athletes. Rivals." His heart was slowly gaining speed, the rise and fall of his chest visible now. He stared at Rafa's reflection, almost startled when Rafa looked back up at him, both of their eyes brown, Roger's more green, Rafa's more golden, both rimmed in heavily-lidded, black eyelashes at the moment. Roger's eyes rolled up in his head as he felt Rafa's fingers sliding up over his sides, lifting his shirt up as he went. He watched him in the mirror as he pulled his shirt off, leaving Roger bare-chested.

"We are not like everyone else." Rafa breathed the words on Roger's heated skin, the shirt falling from his fingers so that he could lift his hands and run them over his arms. His nose nudged against the back of Roger's neck, eyes falling closed just to smell him, his bottom lip getting caught on his skin as he ran his mouth down across the curve of his shoulder. Roger shuddered as he just felt Rafa around him for a moment, not distracted by the sight of him which was beautiful, almost too beautiful. He arched back against him wantonly, the movement pushing a lovely dip into the small of his back, feeling beautiful himself suddenly under these touches, under such strong hands, under such a commanding man's mouth. He couldn't even find his voice to agree with Rafa.

Rafa ran his hand down from the back of Roger's right hand over to his stomach. He lifted his eyes again to watch his progression in the mirror, stealing glances up at Roger's face: his eyes closed in ecstasy, lips parted to pant, to tremble so slightly. He pressed in a bit more firmly on his stomach, feeling the quake his touch caused there. He spread his hand out to trail up to his chest, flicking the pad of his thumb softly over one of his nipples. He gave a breath of a moan against Roger's ear as he felt it harden, the sound and the sensation causing Roger to moan fully, the echo of it not surprising either of them.

Suddenly both of Rafa's hands were pushing up across his chest from beneath his arms, his fingers pressing into his collarbones before sliding back down again, the slide of skin against skin loud in such a room, almost as loud as the wet smack of Rafa's mouth as he closed it around the skin just beneath Roger's ear, sucking hard there, eyes trained on their reflections. The moan that tore up from Roger's throat inspiring fingernails against his chest, marking him lightly as he pressed his hips finally against Roger's ass, his dick straining against denim and nudging Roger easily in those soft pajama pants.

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Roger's knees shook under his weight, threatening to send him into a quivering pile on the floor but Rafa held him up, let Roger lean back against him, one of his arms wrapping around his stomach to hold him up. His free hand snaked down into Roger's pants to find him deliciously naked under the silk of his pants. Rafa's eyes glinted dangerously, showing him how much that turned him on by pressing in harder with his hips.

With one quick movement, Rafa had Roger's pants down around his ankles, leaving him naked and standing a little farther back from the sink, not realizing why he was doing it until he felt Rafa's hand wrapped around his dick. Roger gave a cry that shook in his chest, shoving up roughly into Rafa's hand, his right hand coming up suddenly to brace himself against the edge of the sink. He felt Rafa's heart like drums against his back.

Rafa's mouth eased up on Roger's skin just for a moment as he drew back to admire his work, the bruise on his skin marking him used. He lapped at it gently before sinking his teeth in mid-tongue flick, tightening his hand on Roger's dick as he did. Rafa held onto Roger, supporting his weight as Roger's legs gave out, refusing to let him move from here, refusing to give up this view of them in the mirror.

"Beautiful Roger." Rafa almost sighed this against his skin, his teeth dragging as a beautiful threat on already broken skin, the metallic tinge of blood slight but on his tongue, on his lips. He started to stroke him softly now, watching the reflection of his hand as he jerked Roger Federer off. Roger tipped his head to the side, begging for more of Rafa's mouth, breathing so quickly that he felt faint. He never gave up control to anyone, and here he was, practically begging to be ripped apart by the one person to which he should never give such power. "You let me fuck you?"

"Fuck, yes, Rafa, please," Roger almost whispered, finally opening his eyes to meet Rafa's, his chest heaving in loud pants, thrusting forward into his hand helplessly. He searched those eyes and didn't feel as afraid as he would have expected. He felt safe, hungry, desperate. He couldn't get to his knees fast enough.

Rafa could only watch as Roger spun around and dropped down in front of him. His body moved with the impatient tugs from Roger on his jeans, first the button and then the zipper, and finally the jeans themselves as they were pulled down from his hips. He toed his shoes off so he could lose his jeans and shoes at the same time. Roger pressed his freshly smooth cheek against Rafa's dick through the soft fabric of his underwear, breathing hotly as he rubbed him hard with his cheekbone. Rafa cursed under his breath, gritting his teeth as he smoothed his hands up into Roger's hair, guiding him, asking him to hurry.

Roger peeled Rafa's underwear from his body, not giving himself time to think about this, to actually realize how badly he wanted this. He opened his mouth and took the head of Rafa in past his lips, eyes flicking up immediately to catch his reaction. His head lulled on his neck as Rafa gripped his hair harder, forcing himself deeper into Roger's mouth, not paying much attention as Roger fought not to gag, as he tried to open his throat for the length of him. Rafa growled lustfully as he met Roger's eyes yet again, practically snarling at him as he thrust into his mouth, fucking his throat and wetting his dick more than enough. Roger pushed him back suddenly, his mouth now swollen and deep pink as he gasped for air, a string of spit attaching his bottom lip to the tip of Rafa's dick. They stared into each other's eyes as their chests heaved, both overcome with too much want to know exactly what to do next.

Rafa lifted Roger up with a jerk on his hair and kissed him violently, tasting the salty, heady taste of himself inside of Roger's mouth. The thought obsessed him suddenly and he couldn't get his tongue deep enough inside of his mouth though Roger returned the kiss just as passionately, his hands tearing at Rafa's shirt, demanding its removal immediately. The kiss ended as Rafa obliged, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it away deep into the hotel room. He didn't give Roger a moment to recover before he shoved him back around, pressing him against the counter again, bending him over just enough to lean down and drag his tongue flat up his spine, leaving a wet trail from the small of it up to the nape of his neck. Roger trembled when Rafa stood back up straight, their eyes meeting once again in the mirror as Rafa pulled him back against him with a strong arm around his chest, shoving without warning up inside of him, the invasion so beautifully painful that Roger sobbed, both hands gripping and slipping on the counter but never once looking away from those dark eyes on him in the mirror.

The feel of Rafa inside of him was unexpected and perfect. He was unprepared for how thick he would be, how Rafa's very heartbeat would take up residence inside of him now. He was even more unprepared for how destructive Rafa's hips could be, giving a helpless, elated cry as he was driven roughly against that marble, afraid somewhere in the back of his mind of it breaking. He felt himself being lowered down onto the counter even more, his stomach burning against the icy cold of the counter, his dick trapped against the edge of it. He felt Rafa's belly nestling against his back, heard the rumbling purr of his voice against his ear. He finally let his eyes fall closed, a satisfied smile on his face as Rafa started really thrusting into him, trying to rest back against where he knew Rafa's face was pressed to the back of his neck.

"You feel like you are choking me," Rafa managed to grunt out as he wrapped his arms around Roger, cradling him up from the unforgiving marble as he drove up harder inside of him, knowing that he couldn't keep up this intensity, not here, not when Roger was so encasing and burning hot all around him, not when he felt so fucking perfect. He brought both hands down between Roger's legs and wrapped his fingers around him, jerking him off as hard as he could as he suddenly came inside of him, finally letting out a broken, fragile cry against his ear, burying his face there as he emptied into him. Roger sobbed out his own orgasm, feeling it so acutely that his legs finally did give out, held up only by Rafa's body against him now.

Rafa panted into his ear for a long moment, taking his time coming down, his arms returning around Roger, pressing tired kisses across his now sweaty cheek. When he lifted them both up, Roger leaned back fully against him, not letting Rafa leave his body just yet, tightening around him as best as he could to make him stay. Rafa groaned for the pressure on his dick that was still too sensitive, a smile taking over his mouth too easily, eyes tipped up to meet Roger's again, mouth paused on his cheek.

"I not going anywhere, don't worry."

Roger relaxed just a little, a smile hinting on his own mouth. He lifted a hand and tangled it with Rafa's that was trailing up and down his sweaty chest.

"You'd better not."


End file.
